Scared
by BestINeverHad
Summary: I needed to write my version of the abuse reveal. ::: Ste hasn't yet found out about the full extent of the abuse Brendan suffered as a child… but he's about to… ::: Smut from the outset - Strong language - Dark themes - Touchy subject matters - Possible triggers - Non-Cannon themes.
1. Chapter 1

**Scared.**

Ste hasn't yet found out about the full extent of the abuse Brendan suffered as a child… but he's about to…

Saturday sun leaks in through the open curtains, pours over the two shapes under the duvet and casts shadows across the room. It's barely eight O' clock and outside is only just warming up, the slight remnants of heat seeping through the small opening of the window, behind the nets, along with a gentle morning breeze. Brendan stirs in his sleep and blinks his eyes open, the dust of sleep still in his lids as he gazes down at his lover, curled in a little ball, one arm draped over Brendan's abs, the other under his head. He smiles, takes in the beautiful sight; Steven's golden skin, glinting in the morning sunlight with shadows cast along his high cheekbones, caused by those sooty, Bamby eyelashes.

He starts by planting soft, sensual, little kisses along the boy's collarbones, the top of his shoulders and the nape of his neck, before sweeping his tongue gently across his Adam's apple; in response, there's a sleepy hum of desire, as Steven begins to awaken. Finally, Brendan places his lips lightly over Steven's and, seemingly, it brings the boy to life. Steven flutters his lashes, looks up at Brendan, seems coy and innocent and it's the most adorable thing Brendan has ever seen – and he gets to see that every morning now. He can't believe how lucky he is. Steven smiles sweetly, cutely, at Brendan; in response, he tastes his smile, parting the boy's lips with his tongue and beginning with soft, light little flicks. Tip of tongue to tip of tongue, withdrawing to swipe lips with lips then pushing in again. The kiss becomes a little deeper, as Brendan shifts himself over Steven, bares his weight on his forearms, strain pulling on his stomach and Steven has to pull away, has to stare for a few seconds at the glorious sight of Brendan's flexing abs, strong and solid. Barely concealed strength and masculinity. Brendan nuzzles his nose into Steven's neck and the boy giggles, effortless and light, just enjoying the serenity of the morning. He loves these types mornings they share together; effortless, tender and sweet, but passionate and heated too.

Their lips meet again, a smile shared by both of them in the kiss, as Brendan's hands smooth down the slight curves of Steven, down to his jutting hipbones that Brendan loves so much. He stays there for a short time, while kissing Steven, just enjoying the feel of them, how they stick out at the right proportion, a stretch of golden contours over the bone. Steven hums contentedly as Brendan's tongue pushes deeper, delves into his mouth and hits all the spots that send him hazy. Brendan's hands finds their way into Steven's boxers, grabbing at the soft, golden flesh of the boy's arse. Steven's own hands are splayed across the muscles in Brendan's broad shoulders, fingertips pushing down against them; he loves the way they feel, loves the way they move. Steven manages to roll them over, gets on top and presses his groin against Brendan's, eliciting soft moans from each of them. As the boy gyrates his hardening length against Brendan's, his lips are puckering around the fluttering pulse point in Brendan's neck, tongue lapping, teeth grazing and occasionally biting down, with a medium suction that makes Brendan's mind blur. All they know is each other, all they can feel is the other. The Irishman grunts throatily, as Steven moves his mouth to the muscle that connects from his shoulder to his neck and bites down on it, practically chewing on it, because it's a very pleasurable spot for Brendan they'd discovered a few months back. Brendan's hands are suddenly yanking Steven's boxers down and Steven shimmies himself out of them, allowing Brendan to toss the offending material to the other side of the room. The boy gasps as the Irishman grasps his cock, pumps it, grip tightening with each movement up and loosening with each movement down, like he's milking the pleasure out of it. Steven giggles a little, embarrassed by his gasp, so loud that it sounded like a short yawn, before his giggles become a mess of slurred whimpers and laboured breaths. Brendan grins and flips them over again, loving the way he knows they make each other feel. He maps a wet path with his tongue, from the underside of Steven's jaw, over each erect nipple, down his slight abs and to the dusting of short hairs at the base of Steven's cock. Brendan hovers over the boy's cock as he continues to pump it, then his tongue darts out and just ghosts a touch over the head, teasing Steven, luring him further. At some point, Steven's torrential moans and whines are too much for Brendan to be able to hold off any longer, and he takes him whole, down to the back of his throat, swallows to allow his throat muscles convulse around the head of Steven's cock and basks in the high keening noises that spill from his boy's lips. Steven's nails dig into Brendan's shoulders, rake up, and Brendan knows what he wants. He rolls off to the side and lets Steven settle above him.

Steven swallows Brendan down immediately, in contrast to Brendan's torturous teasing, and Brendan grunts and groans, 'til he finally has the strength to bring Steven's hips closer to his face so he can wrap his lips around the length of Steven's beautiful cock, strung with pre-cum and glistening with Brendan's saliva. Steven whines a little, loses track of what he's doing to Brendan but Brendan doesn't mind, gets as much pleasure out of making _his boy_ feel good as he does when his boy makes _him_ feel good. A splintering, fractured Steven manages to fix some pieces of himself – some – and regains his composure, getting back to work on Brendan's huge, solid length and revelling in the Irishman's growls of pleasure, like roughed up silk. Brendan slaps Steven's arse, causes Steven to gasp but he knows what it means, because that's their little signal. The boy lays back onto the bed and grins at his lover, weightless and giddy, beaming at Brendan with love and adoration. Brendan, he's sure, returns the same look with his small grin. Brendan's quick with preparing Steven, wastes no time teasing here, just slicks him up with lube and pushes his fingers inside him, one then two then three, allows Steven to adjust to it before replacing them with his dick, unsheathed because they're spending the rest of their lives together, aren't they? There's no need for it anymore. Steven gasps, because Brendan is the biggest he's ever been with and after all this time it still takes him a moment or two to get comfortable; still, Brendan doesn't mind. Of course he doesn't, would wait forever and a day for his Steven. Once he knows Steven is ready, he begins to push, long, slow, measured thrusts that still manage to light fires inside of them that burn on for hours after their orgasm, hitting Steven's prostate each time and both of them feeling alive and feverish from it. Steven smiles up at his lover with dilated pupils, a lazy, contented grin that comes with a small giggle, which Brendan sucks up with a slack-jawed, loving kiss. His thrusts are deep but still slow, and he doesn't speed up until they're getting close. He doesn't touch Steven's extremely tempting cock, hard against his stomach with pre-cum leaking like water from a dripping tap, constant and plentiful. He wants them to orgasm from this and this alone. Their hearts thud, the rhythms seemingly chasing their orgasms, their lips connected in a hot mesh of love and lust. Brendan snaps his hips harder and faster, turns Ste's slow, heated, kiss-muffled moans and effortless giggles into loud, guttural screams of absolute pleasure and delight, as Brendan makes his body burn hotter, feverish, makes sweat pour and builds the amazing, twisting, knotting, sensation in his gut 'til it's too much to take. His walls clench on Brendan's thrusting cock, buried deep inside him and hitting that bundle of nerves, and he cums, hard and fast. Brendan carries him out through the ripples and waves of his orgasm, his own orgasm exploding from him from the clenching of Steven's walls, enveloping his cock in even tighter, damp, burning heat. They come down together, Brendan's muscular body slumped over Steven's lithe figure, still buried deep inside him. Eventually, he pulls out and rolls to the side, arms scooping Steven into his solid front, both of them relaxing into the other's scorching warmth. They both share a small, quiet laugh as they look into each other's eyes, real and genuine smiles on their faces.

"I love ye, Steven. So much." Brendan smiles, finally feels completely comfortable admitting that out loud and Steven knows it, but it still thrills him and shocks him each time he says it.

"I love you too, Bren." He whispers and presses his lips against Brendan's, a last, gentle kiss that speaks a thousand words, before they sleep away the rest of their morning bliss in each other's arms.

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It's midday when they wake up again, Steven's head against Brendan's solid chest, moving with each rise and fall of his steady breathing. His body is moulded to Brendan's side, in that place that is, and only ever will be, carved for him and him alone. Steven's sooty, Bamby lashes flutter as he opens his eyes, the midday sun piercing them while kissing his skin.

"Hey." He whispers, smiling softly at his lover.

"Hi." Brendan whispers back, planting a small kiss on Steven's forehead and even that alone manages to thrill the boy.

"Don't want this to end," Steven sighs, contentedly, "ever."

"Mm, me neither, but sadly," Brendan murmurs, "duty calls."

"Just 'ave one more day off!" Steven begs, voice a little louder so he can pitch it just right, "Please!" Brendan grunts and smiles, would love to but he's a working man with a nightclub to run and he's left his staff on their own for the past three days. It would probably be appreciated if the manager showed his face at some point this week.

"Three days, Steven, three days," Brendan huffs, but still smiling, "ye know if I could help it, I'd stay in bed with ye forever." Steven rolls his eyes, teasing now, he's challenging.

"All you want me for, init that? Jus' want me for me body." Steven gasps dramatically, all taunting and devilish. Brendan just smirks, even more devilish, then rolls over Steven, hovering above him with his wrists pinned either side of his head.

"What else are ye good for?" Brendan drawls, voice like honey, smooth with a gravelly edge, and it sends shivers down Steven's spine.

"Um, how 'bout me cookin' n' all tha'?" The boy finds himself saying, lifting his eyebrows in expectation.

"Sounds accurate." Brendan smirks, pecks the boys lips, a final chaste kiss, then jumps off and runs to the bathroom before Steven can get his head sorted out. _Stupid Brendan_, he thinks, _getting me kiss drunk_. He gets himself up, realising that actually, it was no longer his day off. He sighs heavily, stumbles off the bed, stretches and yawns then goes to join his boyfriend in the shower.

"Just remembered it isn't me day off," he explains and Brendan nods but gives him a warning look which makes Steven giggle, "don't worry, I ain't gonna make us late."

"I'll try not to as well." Brendan comments dryly.

"Too right ya won't! Or I'll make sure you've got a case of blue balls for the next month." Steven smirks. Brendan snorts a laugh, a dry chuckle and gives Steven a once over, glances at him with a look of knowing and judgment.

"Please," he scoffs, "ye wouldn't be able to keep yer hands off me for that long." And Steven finds that he can't argue with that, because it's true, so he settles for a pout and tells Brendan to shut up, who laughs loudly. Steven shakes his head in defeat. This man really gets under his tan skin.


	2. Chapter 2

_Did I make a mistake? 'Cause I'm trying to deal with the pain, I don't understand this, is this how it is? I will try to understand. -__Sleeping With Sirens – A Trophy Father's Trophy Son_

The Deli is practically dead today; Doug has said Steven can leave him on his own but there's nothing to go back for, is there? Brendan is working, there aren't any kids in the flat anymore – a thought that still makes his heart wrench – and he doesn't exactly have friends.

"Since when has it mattered to either of you if Brendan is working? Neither of you have ever said but you two together? It's pretty obvious he doesn't mind taking time off work for you, I can imagine it actually, you under his office table and~" Doug shudders at his thoughts and Steven erupts into laughter.

"Why would you even imagine tha', Doug? You're sick, you are mate!" He exclaims, wiping his eyes, "Anyhow, yeah, you're right. Guess I'll go. Ta, Doug."

"The pleasure's all mine, Steven." Doug mocks, putting on a terrible impression of an Irish accent and Steven giggles, shaking his head before replacing his apron with his hoodie and leaving. There's a sudden chill in the air, one that hadn't been there when he went into work this morning, but the sun is still shining and there isn't a cloud in the sky. Steven puts it off as the weather changing, doesn't think too much into it – doesn't know why he began doing so in the first place really. He jogs up the metal stairs of the Chez-Chez balcony, trainers thudding against it and the impact vibrates through the handrails and into his body; the part that worries him is he's not sure that the vibration caused the sick feeling in his stomach, surely that would be impossible. When he enters the club, he sees Cheryl with a huge grin on her face, next to an older man, maybe in his late forties, with thinning hair slicked greasy on his head and untamed stubble. His skin is wrinkled, obvious pores and deep bags under his eyes. There's something about him that puts Steven on edge, and something else about him that he sees a little of Brendan and Cheryl in him. Cheryl's bright grin plus a distanced Brendan with a hard as stone expression, who he just noticed, plus the slight familiarities of the man's looks and it doesn't take Steven much to put the three things together. He shudders suddenly; this is Brendan's dad, isn't it? Steven quickly marches over to Brendan, who sees him and straightens up, suddenly even colder in his stance, some sort of panic, but his eyes warm slightly, something like relief. Steven isn't stupid and he figures it out, doesn't touch Brendan the way he normally would, doesn't greet him like he normally would, just asks to make sure he's correct in his assumptions.

"That your dad?" Steven asks, barely above a whisper and Brendan nods stiffly, eyes clouded by that familiar blankness, the one that even Steven can't see behind. "What's he doing here?" Brendan shrugs.

"I don't know, but the sooner he's gone, the better," Brendan all but growls, "We can't be seen together too much. I don't want my da' knowing about us." It comes out colder than Brendan had wanted it to and Steven visibly winces, feels wounded, but he knows why and he'll support Brendan. If Terry came back, he wouldn't want him to know he was gay either. "Sorry, just~"

"It's fine, Bren, I get it. If Terry came back, I wouldn't want 'im to know either." Steven assures him and Brendan seems to shrink back; it's then that Steven notices Brendan's gaze has fallen behind him and he doesn't need to turn around to know it's Brendan's da', he can see the emotional barriers slamming down and locking into position. He decides to give them an excuse for talking for so long.

"So you want us to cater for the party next month?" Steven asks and gives Brendan a knowing look before he can act confused. He swears he almost sees him smile.

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Brendan questions, raises his eyebrow and Steven almost giggles at their little display, but he's a good actor for the right cause and keeps a straight face, nodding.

"Right, I won't get straight to it, obviously, but yeah, come see me beforehand if anythin' needs changin', alright mate?" Steven turns sharply and begins to walk away, but he can feel Brendan's dad burning daggers into the back of his head. Some random punter bumps into him and he stumbles, turning and facing them. "Ey up, you wanna watch where yer goin'?" He snaps. The punter turns and faces him with challenge in his eyes; he doesn't know why, maybe it's because Brendan's dad is here, but he has the urge for a fight right now.

"You might wanna shut ya mouth, kid." Steven flinches slightly, hates being called kid, patronised like when he was younger. He shoves him, hard, watches as the man falls to the ground and has to contain his surprise – Steven is strong but not usually that strong. Perhaps it's seeing Brendan so closed off, or having to hide again, or bad memories being brought to the surface and spurring him on. Whatever it is, it's going to come in handy as the slightly bigger man gets up and lunges at him. He avoids it easily and gives him a clear punch to the jaw.

"Don't fuckin' touch me!" Steven growls, as the man grabs him by the scruff of his shirt. He clashes their foreheads and the bigger man stumbles back, then just as they're about to get stuck into each other again, with the crowd forming, Brendan comes over immediately, grabbing them both by the scruff of the collar and Steven nearly yells in protest, about him daring to treat him that way but he stops himself when he remember the present company.

"Oi, oi, oi!" Brendan barks, stunning the club into silence, "If ye wanna fight, ye do it outside of my club, now get the fuck out of here!" He lets Steven go first, obviously, giving him a light touch on the arm that means more to them both than it looks to the rest of the club. "And you," he spits, glowering at the other man, "I thought I told yis, I barred ye from this club last week." He's running on adrenaline and an old flame, relit and burning like wildfire. He hasn't been this angry in a long time – first his dad shows up, then this punk dares to touch his Steven. He hasn't got time for patience, just slams his fist into the man's gut and watches him keel over. "Don't ye ever go against me again, kid." He releases his collar and watches as the punk stumbles away, remains standing tall and confident and intimidating. The club is still silent, apart from the music vibrating off the walls. He turns on his heel and arches his eyebrow. "Go on then! Get back to yer drinking!" He snaps and they crowd soon spreads out, everyone carrying on as if nothing happened.

"Brendan Brady!" Cheryl yells, coming over and slapping his arm, harshly, and he has to fight a hiss. "I thought you said no more violence!"

"We barred him last week, he comes back and asks for trouble, the least I could do was give 'im a smack, sis." Brendan says dryly, moving behind the bar and pouring a glass of Jameson's to settle his nerves. His blood still runs hot in his veins and he feels furious, has the urge to batter someone into a different dimension and it isn't settling quick enough.

_~Even hell can get comfy once you've settled in… -Oliver Sykes~_

Brendan sits alone in his office, hasn't come out of it since his dad spoke to him. Years of torture; a wounded heart with its fate left to that of a boy who couldn't begin to understand what happened or why or how, never mind how to fix it. How could his father have been so cool to talk to him like nothing ever happened, like there was never a broken bone or a sleepless night caused by him? Does Brendan really mean so little to him? Brendan shudders. Maybe not… Daddy loved him a little too much. He scoffs, can't figure out if it's heartbreak or rage that had kept him hidden in the office for nine hours. It could be a combination of both. He never knows what to feel, how to feel, about his father. When you focus on rebuilding your life as a cold, empty, bitter man to try and deal with the past, how are you supposed to handle the tidal wave of emotions that break over you? Each one negative and pushing you further into the ground, there to rot and decay. Debris. Brendan would normally have finished at least two bottles of whiskey by now, but doesn't feel like moving. It's like he's become that small eight year old child again, shrinking into himself for the fear of stepping out of line and being _disciplined_ later on. Another cold surge rushes through him, chills not only his veins but his blood and the hairs on his skin stand on end; the club is silent, it's afterhours, so he can hear the footsteps approaching – his footsteps. He never did forget that sound. He opens the laptop hastily and tries to look like he's busy with something. He opens the files for the roster; it's completely sorted, but Seamus wouldn't know that, should he come round the side of the desk. Brendan drums his fingers on the desk – it's a nervous tick but Seamus wouldn't know that, would he? Would he? Brendan panics a little more as he hears the sound of Seamus' heavy hands finding the handle, feels the skin raise at the back of his neck and he takes a couple of deep breaths to regain his composure. Just in time, because Seamus is in the office with him now, sending him a look that's cold as stone and almost has Brendan breaking off into a run out of the room.

"Son," that gruff voice slurs, not because he's drunk, it's a slur with intent; it achieves its intention as Brendan feels his gut twist, "what've ye been doing in here all night, eh?" Brendan nearly pukes with how much his stomach is knotting, reckons his intestines are literally wrapping around it and squeezing while it fills with some imaginary food that he isn't supposed to ingest.

"Rosters, delivery orders, y'know, all that." Seamus doesn't miss the strain in Brendan's voice and grins, sick and twisted, knows he's still got his hold over his boy and it gives him a gross satisfaction. He's a sick man with a sick mind and sick intentions; disgustingly so. Scum of the Earth, able to pollute anything and everything he comes into contact with, infects it, poisons it. Brendan swallows down the lump in his throat with great difficulty.

"Hmm," it's a calculating hum and Brendan doesn't know if he should be anxious or not, "I'm going home." With that, he leaves. And Brendan can almost breathe again – almost.

Why him? Did he do something to him? Was it his fault he did it? Brendan's mind stirs and so does he, fidgeting around under the duvet 'til he can't take it anymore; he gets out of bed, careful not to wake up Steven, though honestly that boy could sleep through an apocalypse, and makes his way into the kitchen, getting a glass of water. He leans against the countertop and sips it thoughtfully, but he'd rather be anywhere than inside his own head right now. He wonders what goes on in Cheryl's head, about their dad, about childhood. Sometimes he wishes he could look into her memories and just live them for a little while, just to be a little happier, even if it's only for a short time. To this day, he doesn't know what he did, if he did anything at all, he doesn't know why it started or what possessed the man to do that to him. Who _does_ that to _their own_ son? It's sick. So sick. Perverse and sadistic and no, just no. It should never happen. Before he even has time for a feeble attempt, he feels himself slipping into that darkness, the place that consumes his essence and swallows him whole.

"_Da' please, Cheryl's in the house," Brendan begs, "please!"_

"_Ye better be quiet then, eh?" Seamus hisses, glowering down at Brendan with that entity in his eyes and the boy, frail and afraid, curls up into a tiny little ball, his bruised face buried into his knees. _

"_She's in the next room!" Brendan sobs, "And I don't wanna, I never wan~" His protests are met by Seamus' fist colliding with his ear and he smothers his cry into his pillow, quaking and guttering, almost vomiting, as he feels his father's callus fingertips curl around the hem of his pyjama bottoms._

"Brendan!" Steven yells, his screeches finally getting through to Brendan, who jolts. Steven nearly breaks down into tears, as he sees the glossy shadows on Brendan's eyes and the tears on his face, whole body quivering as though he's standing nude in the snow during a winter blizzard, the storm taking hold of him and rattling the bones of him. Brendan realises that Steven is awake because he dropped his glass, he can feels the blood trickling slowly from his ankle. But he's not fully aware, not really, it's Steven, but it might not be. Maybe he's still in his office, maybe his conscience is playing tricks on him to try and fool him into dropping his guard.

"I'm sorry, don't hurt me!" Brendan screeches, shrinking into the corner of the units and Steven collapses, straight onto his knees on the tiles of his kitchen and being sliced by the shards of broken glass, in tears. He's never seen Brendan so desolate, so terrified. His sobs come in quickened, sharp breaths and he's clearly in agony, a river of pain cascading over his skin, feels like it's soaking into Steven's soul and breaking him to pieces because he isn't used to seeing this side of Brendan and it breaks his heart all over again.

"Bren, I ain't gonna hurt ya! It's me! I'm never gonna hurt ya!" Steven places his hands on either side of Brendan's flushed face, skin burning, too hot to touch but Steven can deal with it as he desperately tries to bring his lover back to reality. And he does so successfully, watching as the focus comes back into Brendan's eyes and they settle on Steven. "I'm here." He whispers and circles his arms around Brendan, tightly and securely. Brendan's arms clutch Steven as tight as they can without hurting him, desperate to cling onto some form of reality so he won't go back there, like Steven is his oxygen, like his life depends on clinging onto this boy with everything he has – and maybe it really does.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Steven is left with a hollowing feeling in his heart; his boyfriend, who's supposed to be able to trust him with anything, won't talk to him about his dad. He gets that it's hard, that talking about things like that reawakens memories, that never really slept, just rested for a while, that you'd rather not think about. And he knows it's different for Brendan, that while Terry wasn't related to Steven, Brendan's dad, however, there's a bloodline there, so the pain runs deeper. On top of all this, there's something that twists Steven's insides and it causes a dull ache, that seems more painful than a sharp sting because it doesn't relent, it doesn't fade away, it's always there. Churning and rolling and basically turning his organs into pieces of a roller coaster, has him wanting to throw up with the attack of it all. There's something the haunts the dark corners of his mind, that he doesn't yet want to really look into, but it suggests that there's something more lying under the surface, something deeper that happened between the two of them. Because Steven knows what it feels like to be beaten to a pulp and feel humiliated, useless and unwanted. He'd had firsthand experience – from Terry and Brendan, too. And yes, he'd had nightmares, dreams that felt all too real, like it was happening all over again; yes, he'd cried about it and broken down. But never, never had he ever, tripped like Brendan had last night. The look in Brendan's eyes was misty and clouded, far away, as though he were trapped in another reality. He broke down in front of Steven, unaware that the boy was really there and he'd cried out, begged him not to hurt him. Steven shudders, a sudden chill in the room with him. There has to be something deeper than what he'd been told, but for now, Steven doesn't want to think too deeply about it, doesn't want to venture into the 'what ifs' and 'maybes'; he's not sure his heart could handle the strain. Instead, he rolls away from the slowly cooling indent, where Brendan had been this morning before disappearing into work, and gets up to go to the bathroom and shower.

He drifts into work like a ghost, shoulders slumped, feet dragging against the floor below and a face like thunder. Doug eyes him curiously, but decides to leave it until Steven has gotten into the kitchen. They're not open yet, so Doug decides to talk to him while he can. When Steven slugs into the kitchen, Doug doesn't ask straight away, doesn't want to seem like a predator, pouncing on Steven as soon as he arrives. They make small talk for a short while, cracking jokes as they cut vegetables and what not, then Doug decides he's had enough of hearing Steven force laughter, no emotion or effort in it whatsoever, of his lacking ability to sound convincing.

"What's wrong with you?" Doug asks, "Is it Brendan?" Steven rolls his eyes and grunts.

"Not really, but it has to do with him." For once, Steven is actually giving him a straight answer, rather than snapping at him for always assuming his problems are to do with his psychopathic lover. Doug thinks Steven should be able to see why Brendan's always first on the list of suspects, but right now he thinks that something must be up, because Steven's so blunt today.

"Wow, something must be up. Go on, talk to me, I'm not here to judge." Doug assures him with a small smile, and for the first time today, Steven feels a small but genuine smile creep onto his face, one of gratitude.

"I'm not really sure it's my place to speak, all I'll say is, Brendan's dad is in the village and there's some extremely bad blood between them." Doug nods. From this, he sees one more way that Brendan and Steven relate to each other – bad relationships with father figures.

"Did his dad do to him what Terry did to you?" Doug asks and Ste nods sheepishly.

"You can't ever tell Brendan I told you anythin', ight? I just needa get it off my chest." Steven sighs, and Doug feels his stomach drop, because the little bit of composure Steven was upholding seems to drop, and as it does Steven physically deflates. He looks tired, like he hasn't slept properly all night and he's probably been up worrying over Brendan – Doug always did think they were too emotionally attached to each other, sometimes he would go as far as to say it's an obsession.

"I promise you I won't, just say what you're thinking, you know it helps." Doug knows Steven used to go to therapy and that it helped him a lot when he spoke about his problems; especially when he spoke to Amy.

"Just, 'cause, like, with Terry, I mean, it was proper bad n' everything. I always felt like shit and it was humiliating, walking with my hood up and head hung low just tryin' to hide each new bruise 'cause I were ashamed. I was as weak as he said, or at least, I felt that way. It messed with me 'ead like proper bad, n' I lashed out n' everything," Steven rambles but Doug nods anyway, doesn't interject because Steven needs this, and as his friend, it's only right for Doug to listen and absorb his every word, "but with Brendan n' his dad, that's a bloodline init, so like, it's gotta hurt more, ain't it? But last night… God, really, don't tell no one 'bout this, ight?"

"I promise." Doug stresses. Steven sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

"Last night, Bren proper tripped out, like he wasn't even there with me, thought I were someone else – probably his dad – and was crying and backing up into the corner, terrified I was gonna hurt 'im or somet 'cause he dropped his glass when 'e zoned out," Steven's bottom lip trembles and for the first time Doug feels bad for Brendan, for both of them actually, "I ain't ever seen him so terrified Doug, it were proper like he weren't there. It was so bad. I've got this feeling, like, there's more to the story than what he's told me, but I dunno wha'." Doug opens his arm and Steven gladly accepts, flunking into his arms like he'd flunk into bed after a long day at work.

"Maybe you should ask him about it." Doug suggest, then realises how stupid it was to say as soon as Steven gives him that glance – are you dumb? – because of course, ask Brendan about something that might make him vulnerable? No, you're not getting an answer. "Well, best open up shop, eh?" Doug smiles, tone deliberately cheery to try and brighten the mood. Steven sniffles a bit and nods, forcing his own smile and thanking Doug for being a good friend; he simply says it's all part of the job.

It's lunch time, twelve thirty, when Brendan comes out of his office; he's spent the morning, since nine fifteen, sorting rosters, ordering the deliveries and racing inside his own head, trying to escape the memories but he's never fast enough – at least two have overtaken him today and he's decided he's had enough of sitting alone in his office. He gets up, stomach rumbling, pulls his blazer over his shoulders and smoothes down the lapels, before grabbing his mobile and shoving it into his pocket. He leaves the office, met by the sight of early starters and his sister chatting away to that new man of hers, Nate, the posh fella that Brendan doesn't know what to make of; he seems a bit wet to him.

"Bren! You've been locked away in that office all day, a tell ya!" Cheryl booms; Brendan almost winces with it.

"Ye know me, Chez, businessman working hard." At this, Cheryl scoffs.

"It's not hard work to sort out shifts and order some booze n' toiletries, Bren." She smirks and Brendan raises his eyebrows, in challenge. It's the most normal he's felt in forty eight hours – at a rough estimate.

"Would ye like to do the job for me and put that t'eory to the test?" Brendan smirks triumphantly as his sister deflates into Nate's side.

"No thanks." She mumbles and he grins, wolfish and dark, 'til he catches sight of his dad coming into the club and his smile drops completely, forgotten about like old junk kept in the attic. Cheryl doesn't fail to notice this and frowns in response; she doesn't like whatever it is between them that makes the air thicken with immense tension and obvious spite every time the two of them are in the same room together, she almost suffocates with it. She loves her dad, he's God's gift in her eyes, so she can't even begin to understand why her brother cowers away from him. That's the bit that worries her the most. When Brendan doesn't like someone, he shows them, intimidates them, makes them want to run a thousand miles away but with her dad, his disliking of him – or rather hatred – has him shrinking into himself and becoming defensive. She needs information, and soon. "Where ye off?"

"Gonna get some lunch from the deli," Brendan answers coldly, she's almost stung by the tone of it, in comparison to his jokiness earlier, "want anything?"

"No, love," she sighs, "just tell Ste I said hi, yeah?" She frowns, confused, when her brother pulls a face at her.

"Uh… sure." He grumbles, turning sharply on his heel and scuffing away. Seamus wanders over to her, casual as fuck, like he owns the place, and sits himself next to Nate. Cheryl eyes him cautiously, wondering if she's wrong to view him in the saint-like tint that she does. She knows he's not an angel, but he's always been good to her… What's going on between them?

Brendan doesn't maintain his usual swagger as he enters the deli, doesn't care about Doug anymore so even if he sees him deflated, he doesn't care. He drops into the sofa by the window and rubs his temples before sinking into himself, elbows on knees, which are tucked to his chest, and head in his hands. Doug's never seen him sit so… slumped. He's not sure how to describe it; it's just a far stretch from the usual 'look-at-me-I-own-the-place-and-I-can-sit-however- I-want' position. Doug wouldn't normally care, but after this morning's episode with Steven, the fact that Brendan has made changes and plus, Doug is a nice person, means that he can't help but furrow his brow with concern as he looks at Brendan, a mere shadow of his former glory. It's like he's lost the will to fight, and as far as he know, the fight hasn't even started yet. At least, not properly. Doug puts down the knife, still in the hatch way and steps back, into the darker area of the kitchen as he goes to exit it. At that moment, a man with slicked hair and wrinkles, confident in his stance with similarities to Brendan, enters the deli and Doug isn't sure why, but the man gives him the creeps. He stays put in the shadows. He puts two and two together and assumes this is the reason that Brendan is acting different. He doesn't miss the way Brendan suddenly sits like he normally would, face fixed firmly in a frown.

"I t'ought ye were getting some lunch, Brenda," Brendan's dad practically snarls, seems unaware that there's anyone else around and Doug thinks it's better that way, because he can observe – he doesn't miss the way Brendan's dad addresses him with a girl's name, "not here to sit around like a useless waste of space." He watches the way Brendan twitches.

"Just havin' a rest, da'." Brendan's voice is strained and Doug's frown deepens. It looks like it's physically wounding Brendan to socialize with his father; Doug can see the emptiness in Brendan's eyes, like he's in between fading away. Doug guesses the only thing keeping him here is the presence of his father, looming over him.

"A rest," his father scoffs, "ye always were weak, weren't ye son?" The venom oozes from his tone and drips off every word, and every word hangs heavy in the air and Doug can practically see the cloud forming above Brendan, the storm in his eyes.

"Yeah, da'." That's the bit that shocks Doug the most, how Brendan doesn't defend himself, just takes it, agrees with it. It's the first time that Doug has ever been able to see it, ever been able to admit that it's true. Brendan hates himself more than others hate him; a self-loathing so deep that it cuts into him and gauges out anything good about him, able to do so because Brendan doesn't believe there's anything good in him. Doug actually pities him right now.

"I'll see ye later, Brenda." His dad spits and Brendan stays silent, head lolling back when his dad leaves the deli and Doug can see the mist in his eyes, even from where he's standing. Brendan Brady about to cry? Something is seriously wrong there. He doesn't though; he does that usual sniff, the one that makes his moustache pull up, and he rubs his eyes violently, so violently that Doug's surprised he doesn't scoop his eyeballs out. He decides to make his entrance.

"Have fun watching the little show?" Brendan hisses, in typical Brendan Brady style – except his heart isn't in it today. A petty comment with no emotion in it, used to try and forge some normality.

"No, that man is a creep." Doug comments, deadpan, but he sees Brendan crack a disturbed smile. It's cold and cruel, laced with a thousand million untold secrets and agonizing memories. It sends a bitter shiver down Doug's spine and he doesn't fail to grimace at the way Brendan never fails to spook him, even in this state.

"Ye don't even know the half of it, Dougie boy," Brendan hisses, "Steven here?"

"He should be – actually, no, here he is right now." Steven barges into the deli with a face like thunder.

"That Seamus is a right bastard! He has no right- Bren!" Steven jumps into the air with shock, literally, and lands with his back braced against the wall. "Bloody 'ell." Steven groans, rubbing his head. Brendan rolls his eyes, affectionately. It's the only time Doug has seen Brendan look okay today and it lasts for a second. The Irishman gets up and goes over to Steven, cups the back of his neck and kisses where Steven smacked it. Steven wraps his arms around Brendan's waist and holds tightly, like he's afraid if he lets go Brendan will slip through his fingers like sand. He probably isn't far wrong. Brendan holds him back just as tightly, seems to, for once, abandon whatever is on the outside world and absorb the moment for all its worth. Despite himself, Doug is glad that the two have gotten to this place, eventually, no matter what they went through. It obviously only made them stronger in the long run, anyway. Doug can see how happy Brendan makes Steven, so if that's the case he'll leave it alone.

"What did my da' say?" Brendan asks. The question seems to be the smash that destroys the silence. Steven tenses in his hold and trembles a little.

"Bren… don't get mad, okay?" Steven whispers and Doug takes it as his cue to leave. He claims that he's going out to get something that Steven forgot, even though he knows it's a feeble excuse and Steven sees straight through it. Brendan takes in a shaky breath. "Um… someone told your dad that you're gay and that you're my boyfriend." Steven nearly cries as he feels Brendan slip out of his grasp. He looks up into the eyes of a broken man, watches as he falls to the ground and leans against the counter, lips trembling.

"For fuck's sake!" He roars; it startles Steven into another little jump. "Great, so now he's got another thing to taunt me with, doesn't he?! He's always there! Always! Now he's gonna be laughing at me, proving he was right, I'm just a faggot, a queer!" Steven drops to his knees, in the same manner as last night, and cradles Brendan in his arms – a position that's becoming way too familiar – and lets him get it out of his system. Brendan's teeth sink into his shoulder, but he doesn't mind the pain. He feels the frustration, the anger, the misery ripple through his flesh in an almighty scream. He holds Brendan tightly, tighter than ever before, afraid to lose him, tight enough so it was as though he was holding the two broken hemispheres of his soul together – the only one strong enough for it. He couldn't let Brendan slip into that fierce darkness again. When Doug comes back, the bitter cold of the outside flushes them through skin and bone as it sweeps in through the open doorway. Steven leans his head back slightly and breaks down into tears as he looks at his lover, so desolate and shattered. His skin is ghostly white, almost transparent. Doug's heart races at the impossibility of the sight – he doesn't like Brendan per say, it doesn't hurt him to see him this way, only hurts to see Ste cry, but he'd always been emotional and the scene before him is heartbreaking. The only thing he can do is stand awkwardly in the doorway, unmoving; breaking this moment could be as tragic as pulling the trigger of a loaded and aimed gun. It could splinter everything. Doug decides now, that he should look out for both of them and ensure they remember that they're strong enough to get through this; they've gotten through everything together, drugs, abuse, murder and more. This couldn't break them.

Later that night, Brendan lies down silently and watches as Steven undresses for him, slowly. It's not a tease, Steven isn't intending it that way, but it's not exactly giving him what he wants either. Everything is silent par the sounds of their breathing and faint noises of nightlife. They never take their eyes off each other. Tonight is about reassuring Brendan that it's okay, it's okay if he isn't always in control. There's no mask to hide Brendan's uncertainty; this is clearly a struggle for him, a huge one. An internal battle. But tonight is also about trust and love. Brendan loves and trusts Steven. He's going to let him lead the whole night. Brendan, already naked under the duvet, shielded against the cold of late January weather, watches his lover with dark eyes, the fear being put slightly out of balance by his carnal lust for the scrawny, golden frame in front of him that belongs to the boy with angled facial features and gorgeous blue eyes framed by Bambi lashes. His eyes graze over the tattoo on the boy's hip, which only increases his desire more-so. It's agonizingly slow when Steven starts to crawl onto the bed and over Brendan. He's not allowed to touch until Steven gives him the signal; it's so hard for him that his fists are wrapped incredibly tight around the bed sheets and turning his knuckles pure white. Steven's kiss eases him a bit, as the boy slips underneath the covers with him, their bodies becoming gently flush, enough to share each other's body heat and bask in the intimacy of this moment. They kiss languidly for the longest of times, both getting hard for just the kiss, lips stroking over lips and tongues meeting in the middle between motions, tangling and tying in the most sensual of ways. Steven plunges his tongue a little deeper, loves the way Brendan tastes, like whiskey and mint and something that can only be described as him. He loves the warmth of his mouth, damp heat that sends him wild from just kissing, never mind what that mouth can do for him in other places. Brendan responds immediately. Steven pulls away just enough to whisper, "you can touch my upper body", before reconnecting their lips in a heated, lusty kiss. Brendan is quick to comply, needs to feel the boy's warm, soft skin, yielding and perfect, beneath his fingertips and against his palms. His hands run all over Steven's upper body, through the boy's lush hair down to the boy's perfectly jutting hipbones, where they stay for a while to just feel and get lost in the sensation of kissing his boy and holding onto his perfect shape. Steven's hands press flat against Brendan's solid, muscular chest, then he digs his nails in enough to leave red marks and claws from the top of Brendan's chest and down to the line of hair from his belly button, over his solid abs, to his pubic bone. Brendan groans with it, has always had a bit of a fetish for markings – Steven guesses it comes as part of Brendan's tendency to put a claim on things and be in control. However, Steven can't deny that he also has a thing for markings, loves leaving little reminders on his lover's body for everyone to see that Brendan is his – and loves to show off the markings on his own body that show he's Brendan's boy. He stretches his legs back and puts his arms forward, leaning over Brendan in a plank position, but he knows Brendan loves to feel the full weight of him against his body and if he's honest, he loves the intimacy it provides, the closeness of feeling nothing but each other. He lets his body collide with Brendan's, his weight pushing down and creating a delicious friction between their groins every time he moves. He removes his lips from Brendan's, admiring their rawness, how they're slicked with both their saliva and kiss-bruised. He latches his lips over Brendan's fluttering pulse in his neck and sucks it between his teeth, gnaws on it and revels in the way that Brendan responds, nails digging into his hips and shoulders, raking down his back and the laboured breaths that pour fluent from his lips. Without warning, Steven grasps Brendan's cock, electing a sharp, cutting groan from Brendan's mouth; it's filthy and untamed and Steven loves everything about it – especially the bit where he's the one who's caused it, the only one who can cause it. After a few long, measured strokes, Steven pumps his wrist faster and faster, loose at the bottom and getting tighter towards the head, as though milking the pleasure from him and Brendan writhes with it, becomes a splintering mess beneath him. "Touch me," he breaths against the flush, damp skin of Brendan's neck, "but don't move your hand, I'm going to fuck your hand." Brendan grunts, frustration mixed with desire, and takes hold of Steven's cock. Steven starts to thrust into Brendan's hand, still sucking and biting and kissing and licking at Brendan's neck, but in lots of different areas, leaving a couple of love bites behind and marveling them. His wrist begins to ache as he furiously pumps at Brendan's cock, so he slaps the Irishman's hand away from him and shuffles down his masculine body, fingers finding the stalwart muscles of Brendan's deceptively skinny legs and gripping tight, "no touching" he says, before he takes all that he can of Brendan's nine inches into his mouth and down his throat; his tongue swirls all around the shaft while he uses one hand to fondle his balls, swallowing each time the head of Brendan's cock touches the back of his throat so the muscles will convulse and drag more pleasure from him. Brendan is squirming above him, overwhelming pleasure mixing with the need to be in control turning him into a fractured mess, his mind splinters of Steven and only him. His Steven. His lover. His saviour.

Before long, Steven orders Brendan to slick them both up and make love to him – not fuck, this is love here, tonight, in this icy bedroom warmed up by their passion. As Brendan enters, he plants soft kisses on Steven's face – lips, eyelids, eyebrows, cheeks, chin, jaw line, forehead and temples; even his ears. He worships Steven like he's never worshipped anyone before and never will. Steven loses his dominance in the sensations of Brendan's slow, deep, measured thrusts plunging into him and hitting that spot every time that makes him see stars. Their bodies are wrapped around each other, sliding together and slicked with sweat as they kiss each other's skin tenderly, affectionately, their hearts chasing the other's and breathing synchronized. They smoothly switch into another position, one that's even closer, even more intimate and adoring and Steven's swimming with the emotion, loves the way Brendan's arms enclose around his body like he's the only reason for Brendan's existence. The position is overwhelming, closer than they've been before; Brendan's back against the headboard with his legs propped up behind Steven, both of them cradling the other close as if afraid to let go. Steven muffles his moans, dedicating his lips to the soft spot on Brendan's neck, just under his jaw, while he pushes down to meet Brendan's thrusts. He kisses Brendan's shoulder, his earlobe and his cheek, before they engage in a loose, soft kiss that fills itself with more and more passion until they're close to the edge – which is when Brendan flips them over again so he can take them there. He hooks Steven's legs around his ribs, allowing him deeper access and revels in the high whimpers that Steven gasps out, in time with his thrusts. Both can feel themselves getting closer. Brendan's harsh breathing becomes a series of low growls and expletives – it's the loudest he's ever been. They suck each other's moans into another kiss, a hot mesh of tongues and lips and a little teeth in the haste of it all, needing to get there, needing to release. Steven's body begins to quiver, clenching and shaking. Brendan angles himself to keep the position but be closer to Steven, his arms come around the boy's middle and he plants soft kisses on his chest and over his nipples. Steven's vision clouds, as the violent tremors of his orgasm rip through him, cum bursting out between him and Brendan as he orgasms, barely remembering to breathe and the clench of his walls has Brendan biting down on his shoulder – hard – as he tips over the brink and cums into Steven, losing all sense of control or direction. They ride it out, slow and beautiful, then just lay there for a couple of minutes, before Brendan gently pulls out, sliding further up the bed and pulling up the duvet with them, which had been discarded somewhere along their passionate exchange. Steven snuggles into Brendan's chest and the Irishman holds him close, face buried into the damp hair on the top of his head.

"Love you." Steven whispers sleepily.

"Love ye too." Brendan replies, leaving his lover to fall asleep with a drugged smile on his face.


	4. Chapter 4

Perhaps it was in vain for Steven to think that last night may have eased Brendan a little; sure, it'd worked for the mean time, but the next morning came like the last – Brendan's side of the bed empty, the sound of him in the kitchen fiddling with little things and cursing every now and then. Steven sighs, rolls off the bed and wraps up in their shared dressing gown that hangs on the door – Brendan also seems to shower and dress before Steven even wakes up during the past couple of days. Steven enters the kitchen to find Brendan flicking through a magazine with a mug of coffee next to him, but there's still anxiety evident in his eyes. It's tortuous to see such a strong man behaving like this, especially when it's his Brendan, but Steven can't stop the selfish part of him that makes him think of more shallow things – in comparison to the current situation anyway – like how if you went back seven or eight months, Brendan would never have let Steven see him this way, wouldn't ever have dropped his guard. Steven walks up to him and perches himself on the countertop next to him, attempting to read over Brendan's shoulder but the words aren't big enough for him to just about manage his dyslexia and he grunts moodily. Brendan looks at him and arches an eyebrow.

"Can't read it, can a?" Steven huffs and Brendan rolls his eyes affectionately. It's like when they're alone, there's just a little bubble around them, protecting them from the rest of the world and it's moments like this when things actually feel normal – though Steven supposes normal is the wrong word to use to describe the two of them, things have never been normal between them and Steven's pretty sure that "normal" isn't even listed in Brendan's dictionary.

"Good mornin', Steven." Brendan smirks lightly; it's weak but it's there and that's what counts. Steven grins and kisses Brendan lightly on the lips, before running off to get a shower. He's actually surprised when Brendan saunters into the room with him and eyes him as he undresses. Brendan's been so distracted lately that Steven wasn't sure the Irishman was familiar with his own little quirks and fancies anymore. Steven can't help blushing slightly when Brendan winks at him, pulling his blazer off his body and hanging it on the rack.

"Ain't you already 'ad a shower?" Steven asks, arching a playful eyebrow. Brendan responds with a snort of laughter and a challenging smirk.

"Don't ye want me to join yis then?" He asks and Steven rolls his eyes, answering by shaking his naked arse at Brendan in a teasing manner before twisting the knob of the shower and darting underneath the hot beams of water. Brendan soon follows.

Brendan's blood cools dramatically as his eyes are met by the sore sight of his father, leering at him with a smug smirk plastered on his face, as twisted as the soul within.

"Brenda, Brenda, Brenda," he starts, chuckling darkly, quietly, "always knew there was something funny about ye, Brenda." Brendan stays silent and shuffles awkwardly behind the bar, head bowed, eyes darting anywhere but his father. "What's up? Something lodged in yer throat?" Brendan didn't miss the bitter innuendo, spit out like venom on the old man's tongue.

"I'll be in my office." Brendan quietly mumbles, voice wrecked as though he'd spent the night screaming. In a sense, he had. The only difference is that if that had been what'd worn his voice, he sure as hell wouldn't have minded. The office is as cold as it'd been when Brendan spent nine hours in it previously. Everything is cold lately, except for Steven and the bed in which they lie in, usually spent. Brendan sighs heavily and flunks into his chair, arms slamming onto the desk in front of him and head landing on top of them with a muffled thud. Lately, he's come to realise, always knew but never really accepted it full on, that Steven is a flame flickering against his darkness. Steven is some eternal light, a single flame, tiny in mass in comparison to all of Brendan's darkness yet its intensity is enough to warm everything and give Brendan some light, something that seems a lot like hope and its blessed comfort and Brendan clings to it like it's his oxygen. Today, he isn't even in the mood for alcohol. Perhaps that's a side to him that's getting better – _not having_ to turn to the bottle when things get tough. Cheryl mills into the office, giving him a brief hello, before sauntering out again with files in her hand. Brendan tuts irritably – Cheryl doesn't even understand the concept of the paperwork for this place, or does but barely. Why on Earth is she taking those files? Brendan grunts and forces himself into a standing position, reclaiming his composure with a newfound determination. He's going to try and act like he usually does; won't allow Seamus to find any more satisfaction through Brendan's discomfort, through his alarm and terror. He marches out of that office like a man on a mission, and that he is, striding over to Cheryl and peering over her should, choosing to ignore the icy daggers he's receiving from his dad at the other side of the bar. "Chez, do ye even know what half this stuff means?" Cheryl looks at him, annoyed, but sighs and shakes her head. He swiftly takes the sheets away from her and grabs the pen, quickly jotting down numbers and calculating things briskly – especially things in eights, always has been good with his eight times tables – and fills in orders before handing it back to her. He's done the whole six pages within half an hour and sees Cheryl gawping at him like he's got three heads. "Face will stay like that if the wind changes, sis." He comments dryly, handing her the papers and telling her to mind the club for him. He jogs back to Steven's, well, home, and gets changed from his suit into some jogging bottoms and a t-shirt. He changes into some trainers and fills a bottle with water, deciding a run is what he needs – just like when he was little and he'd run across that beach, sheet attached to his back to fly as a cape. Sometimes, he wishes it would be appropriate to do that now, at the age of thirty-four. Pretending to be a hero feels better than accepting that he's a monster – though in reality, it's something he accepted a long time ago. Up until he met Steven, he quite enjoyed knowing he's such a monster; felt powerful and in control. Of course, he still has that about him, it's just that now he has Steven who's shown him he doesn't have to be cruel to get by. It doesn't mean he won't be his usual lethal self if someone tries to mug him off, though.

After an hour of running, Brendan decides to pump some iron at the gym before his muscle has a chance to turn into flab. He starts on the bench presses; familiar faces eyeball the sight of Brendan Brady in a public place, there to do something for himself that doesn't involve using or abusing others. Others, the ones who despite being aware he's the village nut job, eyeball the bulging biceps. He shuffles along the bench press and pushes up with his legs, lifting the weights behind him. He feels the pull on his stomach and revels in the tight, challenging twist. After about half an hour he gets sweaty and pulls off his shirt, slinging it to the corner and he doesn't miss the way Cindy eyes him up even though he told her about ten minutes ago she was making him feel uncomfortable. He huffs, rolls his eyes and gets up, making his way to the water machine and filling a cup. It's then that he hears that cigarette-tainted, crusty voice and he jumps, dropping his water and Cindy glares. He glares right back before his father touches him on the arm and curses when he notices that Cindy saw.

"Why so shy, Brenda? Can a da' not talk to his son?" Seamus growls and Brendan shudders, suddenly feeling too exposed, too open for attack. He scuffs his trainers against the floor and hastily puts his shirt back on, going up to the counter where a confused looking Cindy darts her eyes between the two men. Brendan shoves some money in her hands, doesn't count it, doesn't bother waiting around for change and tries to leave, but Seamus is there behind him so he bows his head, ignoring Cindy when she tries to speak. "Come on, Brendan," Seamus spits, "Cheryl wants us to all have a drink together, reckons it'll be a nice family," the word comes out vile and cursed, "outing." The last word is also emphasised – another gay bashing dig. Brendan visibly shudders.

"No, you're alright, I'd rather not spend time with yis." Brendan hisses, lunging backwards against the desk when Seamus reaches out again. He's already infected, he doesn't want another grubby skin cell of that man's body to come into contact with him or anything he owns.

"You'll do what's asked of ye, Brendan," Seamus grits, "be there, five O clock – sharp." With that, Seamus leaves and Brendan's energy leaves with him. He suddenly feels like a dead weight and drops to the floor, back braced against the solid wood of the counter.

"Brendan? Brendan?!" Cindy shouts, snapping her fingers in front of his eyes, but he's gone again, gone to that special place where everything that haunts him confronts him.

_The slam of the door echoes through the lonely house, Brendan's body stiffening in unison. His blood surges faster and his heartbeat quickens, racing against his chest; seemingly, it's attempting what Brendan has wanted to do for years now – it's trying to escape. It can't though, it's attempts are futile and as long as Brendan is imprisoned here, so shall remain his heart. It became cold a long time ago, the only thing keeping it beating is the malicious Seamus Brady, that makes sure to tune it finely with the melodies of fear, making sure that Brendan sings along with shrieks of pain and of cries of misery. His footsteps bang noisily against the bare wood of the staircase, no doubt being marred by the dirt of Seamus' boots – he always takes the shortcut home through the woods, anything to make sure Brendan suffers soon. The duvet suddenly doesn't feel so soft anymore, doesn't feel so welcoming or warm, as if it's trying to get Brendan to sling it away – the only thing he's got for at least a slither of feeling safe. He can already hear the eerie sound of Seamus' laboured, drunken breaths and his callus fingers fumbling with the buckle of his belt. It seems he's abandoned the will to wait and why wouldn't he? Cheryl and her ma' are away for the weekend – some girly trip. Seamus had taunted Brendan, said he should go with them. Brendan was torn. If he'd have gone with them, he'd have escaped this torture for a couple of days. But then when he got back, no doubt, Seamus would've doubled his punishment for being a puff, a pathetic queer. What man accompanies two females on a trip to the spa? Besides, it's not as if it would've been any more relaxing. Going to bed each night unable to sleep, dwelling on memories and the inevitable future, having to face the girls' questions about the bruises and why he won't let the anyone touch his bare body, lying to their faces because the truth hurts so much more. Brendan knows it was right of him to stay here. His body quakes against the mattress, face pressed firmly into the pillow, the heat of his breath adding to the sweat that's breaking out over his body and it makes him feel even more claustrophobic. He can't lie on his back or side; knows that if he does, the walls will just close in quicker and they're already doing a speedy job of it now. As Seamus' hand clamps around the door handle, a thud causing it to rattle, Brendan's body rattles with it as the door creaks open, slowly, painfully so, taunting Brendan with its pitchy squeaks – hinges worn out from so much intrusion. Brendan doesn't need to turn around to know that Seamus has his head poked through the door, his piercing eyes like pins in Brendan's spine, as he feels their gruesome gaze travel over the mound he forms beneath the duvet. His name is spoken and Brendan knows pretending to sleep doesn't help, so he slowly turns over and comes face to face with the man, the devil, of whiskey-tainted judgment and a mind of appalling thoughts and images – maybe even fantasies. The devil's eyes seem to glow menacingly against the sheet of darkness that blankets Brendan's bedroom, the only light being that of streetlamps outside, little specs peppered on the walls emitted by the gaps in his blinds. The intoxicated insect that crawls under Brendan's skin makes his way over to the bedside. If he could, he'd fight Seamus off, but he can't. No matter what, the man is his dad. No matter how much Brendan hates him, no matter how disgusting he is and the things he does to Brendan are – he's his dad. There will always be that tiny, almost insignificant, part of him that simply yearns for the love of his father, because although Brendan's seething hatred and fear of the man overpowers all, this man helped bring him into the world and with that comes some natural obligation to love him. It's tiny, miniscule, it might as well not be there and Brendan wishes it wasn't, but the man is in his bloodline and there's nothing he can do about that. Maybe one day he'll finally be strong enough to kill him, to get his own justice. God knows he wants it; God knows he deserves it. Seamus unzips his trousers and lets them pool to the ground, arching an eyebrow at Brendan who cowers into the corner of his bed, up against the wall with his knees to his chest. He re-discovers just how feeble that position is; that it doesn't defend or protect him in any way. Seamus is already consuming him and Brendan is doing his eight times tables, eyes squeezed shut while he tries to block out the pain. At least Seamus allows him that; at least he doesn't have to observe what he can feel._

Brendan doesn't know how it happened, nor does he know where and when; he just knows that all of a sudden he's on the sofa in _Carter & Hay_, hunched up in front of Douglas. The blinds are drawn, the door is locked, the sign reading 'closed'.

"Are you back with us?" Douglas asks and Brendan blinks, feels the warm, unwelcome moistness of his eyes and utters curses beneath his breath.

"Why am I here?"

"You had some sort of an episode," Douglas explains "you've been out for a half hour."

"So how did I end up in here?"

"I was passing by and uh, well, yeah," Douglas shrugs awkwardly, "I'm not completely heartless. Took you out of public eyes before any more could see you looking scared and didn't tell Ste 'cause you'd probably have had something to say about that too, never were one for being vulnerable, were you?" Brendan snaps then, has Douglas pinned to the wall in a millisecond and Douglas can feel familiar hatred knotting up his stomach, as Brendan behaves so aggressively, close to breaking his promises to Steven after going so long without hurting him or anyone associated with him.

"Vulnerable?" Brendan snorts, "I don't think so, Dougie-boy."

"So you're telling me you weren't at anyone's mercy back there when you tripped out and started to cry?" Douglas questions and he knows he's treading dangerous territory now but if he can get enough words out in time then he might have some sort of impact on Brendan that'll make him think twice about beating him to a pulp – which right now, Douglas is very wary of; he's petrified actually. "Face it Brendan, me and you will never be best friends but I'm best friends with Ste and I've seen you at your worst, at your best, with your sister and with him. I know you; maybe not as well as Ste or Cheryl or any other, but I do know you well enough." Douglas lifts his hands to the large fists clenching around his shirt collar and feels them slacken a little. "You don't have to worry about me," Douglas assures him, "I'm not going to tell anyone – though this place is small and news travels fast," he manages to get Brendan to let go and watches as Brendan's head droops beneath his shoulders, his rage pulsing through him, "I'll only ensure your suffering if you hurt Ste, my friends or me in any possible way, okay?" Douglas thinks he's got him then, only to be proven wrong as Brendan is back on his throat again, teeth bared and eyes black, nostrils flared. Douglas quivers with fear, dreading Brendan's next move.

"Ye don't know anything, Douglas, anything," he hisses, lips against his ear, his hot breath sending prickling shivers down his spine and making him squirm desperately, "and if ye do meddle with my life, I'll end ye," Brendan hisses and Douglas nods hysterically, knows when to accept defeat because Brendan isn't one for joking around and Douglas hasn't miraculously forgotten who killed Danny Houston, "see ye later, Douglas." With that, Brendan releases his grip and Douglas can breathe a little easier as he watches Brendan's intimidating and powerful figure stalk out of the deli. While feeling the familiar wave of distaste for Brendan wash over him, he doesn't resent him like he normally would, having some knowledge of the reason he's behaving so impulsively and manically.

_I've been secretly falling apart, unseen. To me, you're strange and you're beautiful – Aqualung_

Steven lies down on the sofa and sighs, needing a break. Just as he does, the front door rattles and slings open, alarming him as Brendan staggers through the threshold, slamming the door shut behind him and hailing to the heavens, unaware of Steven's presence. He goes to see to him, but something wills him to stay put and just listen to what Brendan has to scream at his God.

"Ye let him do this to me! I used to pray to ye, begging for it to stop and it never did! What happened to being benevolent?! Eh?! Because there's gotta be a balance between good and evil, I know that, but why the fuck did it have to be me?! What did I do?! Why was that a part of your master plan?! Why was me getting~" Brendan comes to a stop as he realises Steven's presence, hears him as he stumbles and knocks the table. Steven realises Brendan knows he's there and makes his appearance rather quickly, so it doesn't look like he was spying.

"Bren…" Steven speaks quietly, cautiously, eyes raking over Brendan's body as he tries to anticipate his next move. Brendan darts up, it happens in a matter of seconds and Steven panics as Brendan closes in on him, slamming him against the wall…

Meanwhile, at the Deli, Douglas is wiping down surfaces, the cogs in his brain working overdrive about the whole 'Brendan and his dad' situation; he then proceeds to wonder when Brendan Brady became something of an fascination to him. _Maybe this is how it started with Ste,_ he thinks, _except I won't fall in love with the psycho_. The bell above the Deli door chimes and Douglas looks up, eyes wide to see Amy standing there with Leah and Lucas and a few suitcases.

"Amy?" He questions, wondering if he's hallucinating – Amy's been gone for so long now, it's almost a little scary to see her, for her to just suddenly appear. He hadn't seen her when she came to takes the kids away, only heard she'd been, the missing kids as evidence. Her hair was slightly darker now, cropped around her face and she had a golden tan, her skin practically glowing. However, Douglas was paying more attention to the look of pure anger marring her delicate features.

"Kids, why don't you play with your toys over there for a second?" Amy smiles falsely at Leah and Lucas, ushering them over to the sofas. Oblivious, the kids take their toys and totter over, planting themselves into the cushions of the sofa. She makes her way over to Douglas. "Mind if I come into the kitchen?" She asks, angry but still polite and Douglas nods.

"As good as it is to see you, please explain the rage." Douglas gestures to her with his hand, before folding it back into his arm and leaning expectantly against the counter.

"Please explain to me why the _magnificent_ _Brendan _who's _changed so much_ was holding you around the throat." She all but growls, Brendan's name on her tongue like bitter poison that she can't help spitting out, like sin on her lips. Douglas swallows.

"Um, I can't really talk about it, you'll have to speak to Ste." Douglas shrugs, feeling it isn't his place to discuss Brendan's daddy issues.

"You will spill the beans, Carter, or so help me God." Amy warns and Douglas' eyes widen, before he takes a long sigh.

"Don't interrupt me, or insult Brendan, or insult me, or anyone, okay? Just listen to the whole story, because I hated Brendan as much as you at one point but I feel like I… like I almost understand." Douglas explains and Amy's eyes widen, her mouth opening to protest. "Amy, please!" Douglas begs and she sighs, perplexed and agitated but willing to listen.

"Go ahead." She mutters, leaning all her weight against the wall, figuring this may be a long one.

"Okay so uh, a few days ago, Brendan's dad came to the village," Amy immediately arches her eyebrows and stands a little straighter, getting a familiar feeling of realisation, as assumptions swim through her mind; it seems to her that she the only men she knows all have parental issues, "and there's bad blood there – as you probably guessed. But, it's really serious. Ste came to me the other day all anxious and edgy, so I asked him what was up. He said that Brendan's dad was back, a man called Seamus, and that he used to knock Brendan about and that. I was texting him earlier today actually, he told me that nearly a year ago, Brendan had told Ste that his dad used to wake him up and make him fight him while he was half asleep. He also said that he used to call him queer and puff and all other homophobic names, hence the homophobia and difficulty accepting himself," Doug continues and Amy nods, begrudgingly feeling some empathy for Brendan, "but Ste says he's scared that there's more to the story, said how Terry used to knock him about but he never got like Brendan's been getting. He said that Brendan had broken down, got spaced out and dropped his glass and when Ste had gone to see if he was alright, Brendan had backed away terrified and begged him not to hurt him," Amy frowned; it isn't everyday you hear of unbreakable Brendan Brady breaking down, "and I thought he was exaggerating at first, Ste being Ste, always worrying about him too much even when things were bad between them. But then earlier today, Cindy saw me walking by and shouted me over, all desperate and I saw it for myself. Brendan was having a break down, some sort of episode, shaking and crying a bit, repeating the words "no, da', no" over and over again so I brought him back here and when he came to, he was obviously embarrassed, his pride hurt or something and I made the mistake of saying that I knew him and it was okay to have weakness." Amy sighs and stands up straight, unknowing how to feel about all this new information. She often wondered what Brendan's life before Hollyoaks had been like, didn't really believe that somebody could be so closed off and dangerous without some sort of trauma or experience.

"That doesn't excuse him nearly stealing the air from your lungs, though, Doug." She grumbles, eyes fixated on the tiled floor as though it could give her answers. Douglas nods.

"I am aware," he mumbles, "I know we're both not overly fond of the idea of Brendan and Ste together, but they can be as aggressive as each other." Amy looks at Douglas like he's grown three heads, about to yell at him for saying such a thing. Steven wasn't as bad as Brendan. She didn't know how he could say that. Once again, Douglas spoke before she could retaliate. "_Can_ be as aggressive as each other," he insists, "_can be_," Amy sighs again, "they need each other – as fucked as that is. Whatever grudge you hold against Brendan, I don't think it would be wise of us to get between their relationship at this stage. They're both fragile at the minute and frankly, I haven't seen either of them so happy up until a few days ago. I was worried at first that Brendan's state may end up causing harm to Ste, but Ste's like some sort of rock for him. I've learned to accept them, not because I want to keep Ste happy, but because I should and because I can. You should too." Douglas can be extremely wise when he needs to be and Amy sighs, giving in and nodding.

"Makes sense," she mutters, "thanks Doug, I'll see you later, yeah?" Douglas nods and smiles; the two share a look of mutual agreement and understanding, sealing their encounter with a friendly hug. She takes the kids' hands as well as the suitcases and leaves, on her way to the flat, a feeling of nausea caused by nerves swirling in her gut – she doesn't know what she can expect to find.

She enters almost silently, tells the kids to be quiet 'cause they're playing a game. She peeps her head around the corner, kids behind her, and is met by the sight of Steven, tears streaming down his cheeks, and Brendan lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, also crying. She quickly takes the kids' hands and sneaks them outside, calls Michaela and within ten minutes, she's got the kids and Amy goes back inside. This time, she sees the two of them lost in their own little world, just clinging to each other like their lives depend on it. She steps into the living room and Steven notices her now, eyes widening and jaw dropping. Brendan, obviously feeling the difference, turns his head and looks at Amy, his bloodshot eyes also widening. And suddenly, he's turning away again and practically sprinting down the hallway to the bedroom, obviously not wanting to be seen so open. Steven just looks at her.

"What are you- I mean, like, why are you- what?" He stammers, head tilted to the side. Amy chuckles lightly before becoming serious again.

"You've got a lot of talking to do, Mr."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** **I'd just like to thank every single one of the readers of my fic and everyone who's taken the time to review it. It means so much to me! I didn't think I'd get very far, considering all of the wonderful writers on this website, but it seems I'm doing well for myself. A few of my favourites have reviewed my works and honestly, I've been blown away. **

**Special mention to FemaleRobbery. She's never failed to review my updates and some of the things she says just has me, hand on heart, squealing like a fan girl. It can be embarrassing when others are in the room, noticing my constipated look as I try and hold it all together. So, thank you very much. **

**Thank you to everyone, from the bottom of my heart, and I hope you'll continue to enjoy my fictions. I'd like to add that in this fic, Amy knows that Brendan killed Danny for Steven – she found out back in 2011 after Ste, because he told her. Here's the next chapter:**

Now, a couple of years ago, a chat with Amy would always be light-hearted, enjoyable and on the occasion, highly amusing. Steven used to revel in her company, soaking up every last dreg of happiness from it that he could manage. Ever since Brendan, though, he can't remember the last light-hearted conversation he had with Amy. It's not her fault, he knows, but he can't help feel daunted every time he has to confront her, always wondering whether he should keep his guard up or let the woes come tumbling from his lips. In this instant, he's not sure how she's going to approach him; he doesn't know how he should approach her, either. They haven't seen each other in months; the last time she was here, it was to take the kids away from him after daring to suggest that Brendan could provoke harm upon them. The audacity of it had Steven on a wits end. He knew she had every reason to be concerned for him, but not for the kids. Brendan has kids of his own, he'd never harm a child. Here, now, Steven looks at her with an unrelenting sense of dread.

"Ames…" He whispers.

"Steven." She responds, causing him to wince inwardly. Amy only ever uses his full name when he's in for a grilling.

"Why are you here?" He asks.

"Charming," she hums, but Steven sends her a look and she sighs, nodding, "I've come back with the kids," Steven's eyes light up, "don't get any ideas, not yet." She warns him and Steven can't help but feel disconcerted.

"Alright, so?" Steven urges and Amy sits on the tatty sofa, patting the space next to her.

"I come back, deciding to give Brendan a chance, since there's been nothing on the news about him or you," she turns and faces Steven, "and then I see him throttling Doug!" Steven's eyes widen, betrayal swimming in his veins. "And then, Doug is defending him!" Now Steven is just confused, greatly so. Douglas defending Brendan? What?

"Huh..?" Steven breathes, baffled. Amy nods.

"You can thank yourself for that, something about Brendan's dad and him having a bad-"

"Amy no!" Steven shrieks, begging her with his eyes.

"No, continue Amy, my da' and having a bad what?" Brendan glares at Steven, who shrinks into himself ashamed.

"Brendan- I-"

"I don't wanna hear it, Steven," Brendan speaks lowly, causing Amy to shuffle closer to Steven on impulse, staring warily at his tense form, "I trust ye with something that's haunted me for my whole life and you tell Douglas? Really? Ye confide in yer ex husband instead of me, yer boyfriend? Ye don't trust me enough to ask?" Steven swallows hard.

"I was just, I didn't know how you were gonna-"

"Save it. I'm off." With that, Brendan grabs his leather jacket and storms out of the house, muttering profanities beneath his breath. Steven sobs without tears, feels all cried out and heavy, like he might fall through the floor at any moment. He wants to blame Seamus; he wants to pin it all on him, the reason that Brendan now feels betrayed and has stormed off. But no, he can't. Because where Seamus is to blame for many of Brendan's flaws and many problems between the two, he's not to blame for this. Seamus didn't make Steven tell Douglas about Brendan's problems. He can't help but feel like a hypocrite. Amy looks at him, regret in her eyes.

"I didn't mean to-"

"It's not your fault, Ames. He's right. He trusted me with something and I betrayed him." Steven sighs, "These past few months, they've been some of the happiest of my life. Ever since his dad came back, there's been a cloud over our heads." Amy places a soothing hand on his shoulder and rubs it, before pulling him into a hug which he accepts immediately, succumbing to the comfort of his best friend.

_And you're standing on the edge of something, tell me I was right to care, well you know that I'm in love with you, stepping out into the thin air, I believe in you – Aqualung_

He's been walking, aimlessly, for an hour now. His legs are starting to become achy and tired. His body fatigued. And he's been crying. Crying isn't something Brendan Brady does, it's not natural, but he's been unable to help it. He's been doing too much of it lately and it unsettles him; he's never wanted to be weak and he never asked for this. Maybe all these years of brick walling his fragile heart are backfiring… He finds a quiet spot, somewhere quite far from the village amongst a few trees; a mound edge hanging over a churning river, swamped with water lilies and butterflies that linger in the nearby nettles. It's damp and heady, the smell of wet pine lingering beneath his nostrils but the ground is bone dry, blanketed by blades of deep green grass. It's a natural beauty and it calms Brendan, as his legs dangle over the edge in a childlike manner. It reminds him of days spent wishing his life away, when he was small. When Seamus was at the pub, or had passed out, and couldn't stop Brendan from wandering where he pleased.

_Dublin sunsets have always been a beautiful site to see. The sky churning with midnight blue, royal purple, candy pink and burning orange, casting a gorgeous reflection over the city's waters. Ha'penny bridge and its boats rest above the gentle currents in the river below, the sun and the sky reflected elegantly; the sight is almost surreal. Brendan would question its truth, but after thirteen years of living in the same city, he knows it's real. Most would grow tired of the same sites, find them beautiful for a while until it becomes a normality and, all of a sudden, it's just the end of another day. But in these beauties, Brendan finds some form of peacefulness. It's simplistic things like this, that Brendan clings to. Things so normal that everyone forgets just how serene it really is, but Brendan's life means that anything this amazing should be cherished. He sits with his legs dangling over the edge, body wrapped around the metal between them as he gazes longingly at the image captured on the water's surface. He suddenly imagines how it would look if all his memories were mixed into the river, all the things he's seen and experienced. He suddenly imagines what the river would reflect, if his life was blended with it. The colour of it, the way it would flow. Depths of charcoal black, polluted and poisonous, touch it and you die. It'd churn, waves rolling over each other and crashing against the surface, crashing just like his hopes and dreams. He'd see his face for a few seconds, before it'd disappear in another tidal wave of despair and realise that the deadly water would, in fact, be made of his tears. He shudders at the thought, curses himself for marring the image set before him and wonders what he did to deserve this; wonders why his dad had to taint everything that could possibly shed some happiness onto his life. _

"_Rough day?" Someone asks. Brendan turns his bruised face to look up at the mystery boy, realising it's the young lad he's noticed in school a few times. "That looks nasty." He comments and Brendan shrugs._

"_I've had worse…" He mumbles, thinking it goes amiss, but the boy next to him does hear. The boy sits next to him and sticks out his hand, offering a handshake. Brendan looks at the hand accusingly, then meets the eye of this mystery boy._

"_I don't bite, Brady." He chuckles and Brendan raises his eyebrows in question. How does this lad know his name? As if reading his mind, he answers Brendan's unspoken question. "Everyone knows who you are, Brady. You're the school psycho with the good looks that steals the girls." Brendan's eyes widen a little._

"_Psycho, eh?" He scoffs, and shakes his head, ignoring the handshake and looking back at the water._

"_I reckon you're just a little misunderstood," the boy chuckles, "I'm Pete."_

"_Nice to meet ye, Peter." Brendan hums, nonchalant, causing Pete to tut and shake his head. He likes Brendan already._

The sun begins to set and the air gets cooler, sending a shiver down Brendan's spine and he decides to up and leave. When he arrives back in Hollyoaks, it appears that Douglas was right, though Brendan knew this already, and anyone daring enough to enter his personal space asks questions. Question after question piles onto him and he answers all with a menacing glare or a simple shove – even the girls. Finding himself unable to deal with it all, he runs back to his and Steven's home and finds him and Amy there. He ignores them, goes into the bedroom and packs a bag, ignoring Steven's questions and shouting. Stuffing some money into his blazer pocket, he exits the bedroom.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?!" Steven shrieks.

"Ah!" Brendan yells, "I'm going away for a bit, Steven, okay?! I can't deal with all of this right now! I've got my da' lingering round every corner, I've got ye going behind me back, Amy's here, someone who won't even try to accept that maybe, just maybe, I'm trying my hardest for ye and then there's Douglas who thinks he's got me figured out and it's too much, Steven, alright?!"

"No! Don't walk away from it, Brendan, not like you always do!" Steven yells.

"So sue me, Steven, I'm weak. I don't care." Brendan shrugs, letting out a long sigh, distress etched into his features and he looks exhausted, like he's lost all hope.

"Please, Brendan." Steven begs, gripping the lapels of his blazer and burying his face into his chest.

"Just a few days, Steven, that's all. I'll be back. I'm not running from ye, I can't lose ye." Brendan sighs, too weak to resist as he rests his forehead on Steven's shoulder, both depending on each other to keep the other upright, and his arms circle his waist. Right now, he could care less about Amy being there to watch it all. "But this is too much. I've spent my whole life running from a man and now he's back again. I need a break."

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It's been three days since Brendan left. Three horrendous days without even a text message to say he got to wherever he was going safely; to top it off, Seamus has been calling into the Deli on a daily basis, asking all kinds of questions and Steven can't help but think he's up to something. It unsettles him. He feels about ready to bring up his previous meal each time Seamus gives him a certain sideways glance, or he gives him that bitter smile that, for some reason, only Steven and Douglas notice is laced with deadly toxins designed to strike fear into hearts; as though he can hear the way Steven's heartbeat increases under the impalement of dread and it scores him another point in whatever game he's playing with him. At this moment, the bell above the door chimes and in walks their newest regular, Seamus Brady. Douglas gives Steven a look to say he'll handle him and walks out to serve him. Steven busies himself with some vegetables to chop and can't help but picture them being Seamus' head. The bastard really crawls beneath his skin; he can only imagine what it's like for Brendan. Except, after recent episodes, he almost can – that's what enables Seamus to get to him as easily as he does. But he doesn't show it. Though somewhere in that distorted mind, Steven thinks Seamus has the intelligence and the observational skills enough to know exactly what he does to him. _It's probably the reason he comes back every day._ Steven scoffs at himself and shakes his head. _Of course it is, no question or doubt._ Steven, sneaky little fucker he is, manages to listen in on the conversation, causing a disturbance that has the two men coming closer to the kitchen and he hides behind the wall, listening intently.

"Brendan been around? Haven't heard off him for a few days, anyone would think he's trying to get away from me." Seamus almost snarls, but manages to keep the "friendly" smile on his face. He feels like storming out there and confronting him, screaming something like, "Yeah, yeah he has! So why don't you do us all a favour and leave us alone so my boyfriend, your son, will come back here!", but he knows he can't do that – especially if he is to get anything out of eavesdropping.

"He's away on business, I'm sure he'll be back in a couple of days." Douglas tells him smoothly and Steven thanks him, unseen and unheard. The last thing Seamus needs to boost his sadistic ego is the knowledge that he can get into his son's head so easily, that he's left with no option but to flee. If he's honest, Steven doesn't think he needs a way in; he never really left. As Steven ponders over things, night after sleepless night, he's begun putting pieces together. He's concluded so far that there's more between Brendan and his dad than a few punches thrown and homophobic insults. Maybe a family trauma that was Seamus' fault? Or maybe Seamus did something unforgiveable to Brendan or his friends or family and it still haunts him? Whatever it is, Steven is set on figuring it out – and soon.

When he gets home, the kids and Amy are watching a film and Steven decides now is the best time to talk to her – while the kids are distracted. Amy's been really supportive lately; Steven can't help but think she feels some sort of begrudging empathy for Brendan, due to Steven's own childhood and everything he and Amy went through together to work things out. He feels terrible for it; discussing Brendan's problems without him even being present, letting people in on things that Brendan wants very much to keep locked away. But he simply cannot help it. He's anxious for Brendan's wellbeing and if he's honest, a little bit petrified. Not to mention the gnawing irritation that sinks into his pores and tries to talk him into battering the living daylights out of Seamus Brady. The only thing stopping him are his kids and Brendan – what he might do, what he might say. Steven taps Amy on the shoulder and she looks up at him, sees the look on his face and doesn't need to ask or be asked, gets up silently, so not to disturb the kids, and follows him into his and Brendan's bedroom. When she enters, she can smell the Irishman's aftershave and as time goes on she finds herself more and more besides herself – does she hate that he's been here long enough for his scent to linger, or does she like it because it means he's sticking around this time and isn't going to hurt Steven? The display of affection three days prior to this moment, was enough to show her that he truly loves Steven. She can at least accept that – just about. Steven heaves out an elongated sigh and flops onto the bed, groaning and toppling onto his back. Amy sits next to him and just lets him whine and shuffle around for a few moments, until he finally feels ready to talk. After five minutes, he sits up and looks at her.

"Y'know, Ames, I'm starting to fit things together now." Steven whispers and Amy nods, urging him to continue. He sighs again and runs his hands over his face and into his disheveled hair. "There's more to it than a few punches and some homophobic insults. There has to be. I ain't ever behaved like Brendan just 'cos Terry were around, 'ave a?" Amy shakes her head and Steven continues. "I'm starting to come up with little ideas, now, 'bout why Brendan behaves the way he did, 'bout what he's trying to put behind him so he can be the man I need 'im to be," Steven lolls his head onto his pillow and lies down, "it's all connected to his dad, anyone can see tha'. But there's something more there, 's gotta be, and I don't know if I'm right in thinkin' somet happened that caused some sort of trauma or somet." Amy nods understandingly and makes a mental note to do some investigating; for now, Steven needs a friend. "He ain't even sent me a text or nuffin'."

"It's Brendan, babe," Amy sighs, "not much of a texting person, really, is he?" Steven shrugs.

"Sometimes. He's even sexts me, sometimes." Steven giggles a little, a light shade of red filling his cheeks and Amy doesn't know whether she wants to giggle with him or gag – she settles for both, pretending to be sick then giggling. "His dad's been hanging 'round though, proper dodgy, like, askin' me all these questions 'bout Brendan and me and all tha', keeps buying stuff from the Deli and I don't really wanna accept money that he's touched, it makes me feel dirty." Amy laughs at this, has to, really, there's something comical about the way Steven says it.

"Let's not think about Brendan, or Seamus, or anything moustache related for tonight, okay? Let's just have a nice movie night – put the kids to bed, you and me and a date with Patrick Swayze." Amy wiggles her eyebrows and Steven smirks.

"Fair enough – you gotta admit though, Brendan's 'tache suits him, 'specially since he trimmed it back to what it used to be." Steven beams at Amy, a little bit coy but bubbly about it. She smiles and nods, not really bothered either which way; Steven never had a thing for facial hair, would always shave himself clean – still does – but ever since Brendan… he doesn't like too much, but he loves a moustache. Amy, however, isn't so fussed and nods because she should, just to make him feel good – somehow.

Amy looks over at Steven and sighs; she'll never understand the connection between him and Brendan nor will she ever understand how Steven could so easily move past the fact that his boyfriend is, in fact, a murderer. When she found out, she begged him not to go back to him, to tell the police – hell, she was going to do it herself. She was the definition of hysterical. She had to leave the village for a short time, just to get some distance and clear her head. After all this time, the only thing that's stopped her from using that fact as a way to get him away from Steven for good, is the fact that if Brendan didn't do what he did, Steven wouldn't be alive. It's crazy to her, the lengths they'll go for each other. Some connection; both tied to the ends of the same rubber band just waiting for each other to come springing back. A compliment to the other is a compliment for themselves as well, and an insult to the other is like an insult to themselves too. It's like, when one of them is hurting, the other feels it too. No matter what happened, whether it was abuse, lies, mind games, boyfriends, husbands, children and what not, they always managed to fall back into each other's arms. They're like the times of day; Steven could be day and Brendan could be night, they'd be away from each other for ages but eventually, they came together like a sunset. Where night and day meet in the middle and touch onto each other; beautiful and unique. Amy isn't sure she'd describe their relationship as beautiful, they might but she definitely wouldn't, certainly unique but never beautiful; however, one may describe their love as something beautiful, something admirable and a little bit fairytale. Never dying, never fading, always present and unyielding and seemingly, impacting on every choice they make and every thought they have. Sometimes Amy wonders if they're too dependent on each other. One's happiness is the other's leverage, while one's sadness is the other's abyss. Steven's phone lights up; she reads that it's Brendan and can't help but smile, sadly, at how his face lights up with it. She can't help the gut wrenching feeling that Brendan's going to harm him in some way – again. Normally, Amy would try and interfere; but anyone who's tried before knows better than to try again. Amy's tried on at least three occasions and each time, she's failed. She's only still around because she's the mother of Steven's kids. In Brendan's eyes, amongst his own set of morals, corrupt as they may be, that gives her authority and a place in Steven's life. She's also sure that Brendan would never hurt her, simply because of past experience and the fact that, as Steven has said before, "that's not his style". Brendan doesn't do harming women. Brendan and Steven, together, are like fire. Try and get between them and people get burnt.

"Bren says he's sorry he hasn't text, that he's been spendin' some quality time with Declan and Po… Padraic, I think – his other son." Steven smiles. He looks as though he's relieved and Amy can only imagine the thoughts that would've been swimming through his brain; self-doubt and insecurities and what not.

"Tell him I said hi," Amy shrugs, with a small smile, "if you want." She doesn't know why she says it but for some reason, she feels inclined to at least try – especially if the three of them are going to be living under the same roof. Also, there's a part of her that actually kind of wants to help Brendan, because when she thinks about it, he's more like Steven than she initially thought. Both of them have issues with their father figures, both have this animalistic rage about them – Brendan's worse than Steven's, but both possess it – and Amy believes that Brendan could be sorted, near enough, the way Steven was. Because Steven used to hit her, he couldn't contain his temper and he lashed out, but he changed. And Brendan used to hit Steven, couldn't contain his temper and lashed out, but he's changing. Maybe she should give him a chance. After all, Steven snapped at her this morning when she was looking over his body, after he left the bathroom, for any signs of bruises – the only markings there were love bites on his hips and collar bones anyway, so for now, she's satisfied that she doesn't have to worry about him too much. As Steven thumbs back a text to Brendan, she finds her hatred of the moustachioed Irishman fizzling away, biting back to a strong disliking. She almost loathes herself for it, but she finds it's more exhausting to pretend she still sees red just with his presence than it is to accept the fact that actually, this version of Brendan, once you get to know him, is almost likeable.

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When he arrives in the village, four days after sending Steven a single text, Brendan feels a little lighter. He managed to push aside the thoughts of his own childhood as he spent time with his kids, focusing on making sure their childhoods are far brighter than his own that's shrouded; black holes that sucked the happiness from him and morphed it into dark clouds set to weigh over him and taunt him for the rest of his life. _Look at all the things you could've had instead; you were dealt a wretched hand; God must truly resent you_. Declan's beaming face and Padraic's excited laughter still play over, proudly, in his head from the day he took them to the new theme park that'd opened up. Declan may insist he's a man now, being sixteen, but he's as much a child at heart as he had been when Brendan left home nearly three years ago. Now, as Brendan slowly strolls back into the village – his village – he's confronted with the sight of the one and only, Amy Barnes. He braces himself for some lecture or a stern warning; maybe even a telling-off. Instead, he gets an awkward half smile; it stuns him into stillness. She makes her way over to him and looks up at him.

"How was your trip?" She asks him, casual as ever, as if they're long term friends.

"Um… yeah, was good, yeah." He responds, and Amy doesn't miss the hesitation in his voice.

"I'm not here to yell at you," she tells him and he nods slowly, finding it difficult to believe, "Ste might, but I'm not." Well this is a change.

"Oh… why?" He asks, subdued by confusion. Amy chuckles a little bit; she's never seen him so baffled.

"One text after being away for seven days? That's called being a bad boyfriend," she teases and Brendan almost smiles, but he isn't sure if she genuinely finds it amusing or not, "not to mention your creep of a dad lingering round every corner," she adds, suddenly becoming serious and watching Brendan's face, gauging his reaction; there's nothing she can detect, but what Amy doesn't know is that with Brendan, in close-to-heart subjects, the eyes really are the windows to the soul, "good luck, anyway." She waves briefly, a little awkwardly, like she's forcing herself to be nice to Brendan and why, when Steven's not here, Brendan doesn't have a clue. However, he sees her off and pretends like the last five minutes hadn't pumped the fuels of anxiety into his veins. Making his way back home, Brendan braces himself for a grilling, but there may be a way out of it if he knows Steven at all. He spends the time it takes to get back to the flat, thinking up sweet lines and more to try and weave his way out of Steven's web of rage. What he doesn't expect when he arrives, is to see his dad on the doorstep, talking to Steven...


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I am so sorry about the wait – truly, I am. I've got a lot going on at the minute. Also, for those of you reading "In The Next Life", I have a case of writer's block but I'm trying my best to work through it so it should – should – be up soon. I know I said I'd be updating it before this but, well, this was easier to write for.**

**Thanks to everyone who reads, favourites, follows and reviews. It means the world to me. I hope I continue to meet your expectations in my writing and I hope you'll see the fic through to the end.**

**This chapter is a little shorter than the other ones but I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless.**

_What he doesn't expect when he arrives, is to see his dad on the doorstep, talking to Steven…_

Brendan comes to a stand-still. He can't believe what he's seeing. There's a sense of betrayal there; he can feel it swelling inside his chest like a tumour, unwanted and painful. Why was Steven talking to his dad? After everything he'd said, too. And maybe he hadn't told him everything, but… but that didn't mean what he told him wasn't enough of a reason to stay away from him. He can't tell what they're saying, can't tell the expression on Steven's face – whether it's neutral, smiling or frowning – nor can he tell if Seamus is going to leave any time soon. He slowly steps back, his inner demons fighting against anything rational within him, anything reasonable, and they're slowly winning. He _could _go over there and see what's going on and he _could _ask Steven why on Earth he's conversing with the devil. However, he's beginning to realise that there's a side to him that's sick and twisted, and not in the way he knew before; a side to him that wants to fight with Steven about this. He wants to scream and yell, because that's what he's used to and that's what he hasn't had in so long. The hollow aching of seeing the love of his life talking to the demon of his soul crushes him and he suddenly needs to fight – not with his fists; he wouldn't dare. But he really needs to let everything out. Maybe tonight is the night he tells Steven _exactly _why he should stay away from Seamus, away from men like Seamus. But first he needs to scream, because that's all he feels capable of.

As Seamus walks away, Steven goes back inside his their flat. Brendan sticks to the shadows, 'til he's sure Seamus is gone and won't see him. When he's gone, Brendan walks over to the shabby entrance and stands outside. His veins are thrumming with confusion and anger and overwhelming pain, his blood sings with it. As he clenches his fists tighter, he takes out his key and enters the flat. He slams the door shut, chucks his bag on the floor and looks at Steven, who looks at him with an expression that, he imagines, displays an equal amount of disdain.

"Want to tell me why you ain't called or text me for so long? Why it wasn't something on your list of things to do, for ya to tell me you're alright? Or, and here's pushin' it a bit, asking if I'm alright?!" Steven bites, fists clenched by his sides.

"Want to tell me why Seamus was outside our doorway having a chat with yis?!" Brendan backfires.

"Oh don't you fuckin' dare, ight! You're the one who left me here, on my own, at his bloody mercy! He's been hanging around all fucking week so don't you dare! It's your fault!" Steven snaps, enclosing on him a little and Brendan paces forward too, fire in his bones and scorching him throughout. The hoard of emotions swimming inside him is making his gut physically ache; making it twist and turn and he's nauseas with it, unable to handle it.

"If ye were that bothered about me leaving then ye could have fucking come with me! If it bothered ye so much! What do ye think I've been doing for my whole life, Steven?! I've been running from that man! Then all of a sudden he's back in my life and do I get to leave again? No, because you're here!"

"Well if I'm that much of a burden what the fuck are you doin' 'ere?!" They're face to face now, both breathing heavily with exasperation and anger

"That's not what I meant and ye know it!" Brendan yells, "I go away for a few days to clear my head and I'm getting the third degree from ye?! Would ye rather I released my distress through my fists again, eh, is that what ye want? Be the perfect excuse to leave me, wouldn't it? Just like everyone! 'Cause it looks like that's what ye want when I see ye talking to the man who makes my life hell! So is that what ye want, is it? For me to hit ye again!" Brendan screams, then winces and visibly recoils, stepping back from Steven. He looks wounded and so does Steven. He suddenly feels deflated. He feels disgusting and pathetic; the worst excuse of a man that ever walked the planet. He knows what it sounded like – it sounded like a threat. It sounded like he was hinting – 'this is the perfect excuse to hit you and I'm going to'. His back hits the wall with a dull _thud _and he slumps down it, knees coming to his chest and head in his hands. "I didn't- I don't know- I wasn't going to- I wasn't threatening- I…" His voice is quiet, broken, and his hands are shaking in his hair. His whole body quivers and he can't bare Steven's silence. The next thing he hears are heavy footsteps and the slam of the bedroom door. All of a sudden, it's as if the world has just tipped upside down again. This time, he's gone too far – and he didn't even have to use his fists, either. He overstepped the line the moment he mentioned it: the foul side of their history together.

:::::

Two hours pass. All Brendan has heard is the occasional slam of drawers and a few sobs from Steven. Brendan, though, hasn't stopped crying for all of those two hours and he feels tiny and ridiculous but it's all he can do. He doesn't know what to say, or what to do, but he needs to say something. He needs to see Steven's face. He needs to see his boy smile again and know it's him whose caused it. At that moment, Amy enters the flat with the kids. The moment she sees and hears Brendan crying, is the moment everything stops. She stares at him, a hunched up, sobbing mess on the floor, for what seems like an age. Before telling the kids to go to their room and stay there for a while. Leah takes a little more convincing – she wants to comfort daddy Brendan. But eventually Brendan speaks up, tells her he doesn't deserve her comfort, and she retreats to her bedroom with a sad pout.

Amy comes and sits next to him, asking what's happened. Brendan shivers as he cries, chokes on his sobs slightly and Amy hasn't ever seen him like this. His eyes are red and streaming, his face blotchy, cheeks stained with tears and he's in such a foetal position that she's wondering what happened to the real Brendan Brady – Brendan Brady has never looked weak in all the time she's known him. At the same time, she suddenly thinks this is the strongest she's ever seen him, too, because he's not actually hiding his emotions. She has to give him credit for that.

"Come on, Brendan, what happened?" She asks in a stern voice, now. She needs to know and Brendan sighs, wipes at his face with his sleeves and tries to control his breathing.

"We had a fight… things were said… he was mad about me not being in touch… I was angry 'cause he was talking to Seamus. Things were said… I took it too far." He mumbled, before the tears continued to flow and Amy's heart raced.

"Did you hit him?! 'Cause I swear-"

"No. God no, Amy. I know ye don't believe it, but I'm not like that anymore," Brendan snaps, but it's weak and frail, a reflection of how he feels, "but I did mention it… said that he sounded like he hated my new way of getting rid of my frustration and like he would prefer me to…"

"Oh, Brendan!" Amy scolds, but she sounds more like a disappointed mother than the old Amy, who would've used any excuse she could've to have had him exiled from Steven's life. Brendan remains silent, his sobs quickening but getting quieter and his body is wrapped so tight that Amy wonders how he's breathing. "Listen, I'm going to stay with a friend with the kids. When I get back tomorrow, you two had better have made things up, do you hear me?" Brendan nods meekly and Amy sighs. With a little help from Brendan's knee, which he did not offer, Amy stands up again and goes into the kids' bedroom while Brendan stays on the floor, ear pressed to the bedroom door but he's not really listening for anything, just leaning there.

As soon as Amy and the kids leave, Brendan starts talking.

"Steven, I… I'm sorry. More than that, but words… they don't really explain things very well, do they? They say actions speak louder than words and… well it's true. If I could just see ye, at least, ye might know how sorry I am," Brendan sighs, deciding now would be the time to explain why he's like this, but he can't do it through the wood of the door, "I know that ye think ye know me… and ye do – better than anyone. But even _you_, Steven, don't know all of me. Ye don't know everything about me, as much as ye think ye do…" He pauses for a moment, can hear the sound of Steven shuffling around, before he hears the click of the door handle and suddenly the door is open. Steven is looking at him with puffy, red eyes and flushed cheeks. He doesn't look angry, just upset – really upset. It unnerves Brendan, unsettles him even more-so. He begins to question whether or not he can do this; whether or not he's strong enough to tell the man he loves that he's slept in the same bed as something so used, something so infected and disgusting. He's scared. He's scared of rejection. He's scared that Steven might leave him if he realises how vile he really is. He's scared. Terrified. And Steven is just standing there, looking at him, before making his way over to the bed and looking at Brendan as if he expects him to come to him.

Brendan hesitates, before going in and closing the door behind him. The lighting is dim, only the bedside lamp on, and Steven is kneeling on top of the duvet like he expects Brendan to join him. Brendan just stands there, nervously, his fingers tying together and crunching under the strain and he begins to pace because he isn't sure of what he's supposed to do with himself. He doesn't want to have sex. Not like Steven seems to be suggesting. Of course, there's nothing he loves more than seeing Steven come apart from his touches, having the man he loves, heart and bloody soul, more than anything, so close to him, their limbs entangled and bodies writhing in the darkness, only sounds of moans and cries and whispered 'I love you' 's and breathy sighs. No, he loves that, but he doesn't want it now. He needs to get this out in the open. Because all he's ever wanted is for someone to see, for someone to understand – maybe even tell him why. Why would his father, his own flesh and blood, do that to him? Was it something he did wrong or was his father really just that sick? He needs Steven to know, wholly, who he is and why he's built this way – why he functions so differently to others.

"Steven… there's something that-"

"Don't talk. Just come here." Steven urges, shaking his head.

"Steven-" Brendan's voice is broken, coming out in a cracked sigh. Steven walks over to him and presses his lips to Brendan's. Brendan tries to resist, but fails, their lips suddenly moving slowly. Brendan can't help the tears that start to fall again; he's powerless to stop them. "Please don't." He whispers against Steven's lips. Steven stills, breaking away and looking Brendan in the eyes. The man he knows isn't there. Instead, it's a broken, desolate man with something hidden in his soul and Steven's heart clenches. He wants to find out what it is, but he's scared of what it could be. He doesn't want to know – not yet at least.

"I don't wanna hear anything you have to say. Not tonight. Please. I don't think I could cope. Because I'm scared, Brendan, okay? I'm really fuckin' scared. I ain't ever seen you this way before and I dunno what I'm s'posed to do. I dunno what I can do to make it better and that really scares me. I've always been this person that brings out the best in you, ain't I? But I haven't been able to, lately, and it terrifies me, Bren. Just, please, just for tonight… I just want it to be us. None of this parenting shit, none of the outside world or the pain. You said you're a man of actions… you show people how you feel. So show me how much you love me – nothing else matters tonight." Steven begs him, his hands are clinging to the material of Brendan's shirt and Brendan's too weak. He can't do this. He can't push him away. He's still crying and Steven wipes away his tears before kissing him again. It's slow, languid and soft, mixed with the saltiness of Brendan's tears. They move over to the bed, falling softly onto it, and Brendan breaks away again.

"I don't want the lamp on," he whispers, "I don't want the light." He doesn't want light. He's shrouded in darkness, on the inside, and he wants it this way when he's making love to Steven. Because there's something comforting. Steven is the one who can take Brendan's darkness and throw it into the night sky – where it's supposed to be – and he shines like a star just to guide Brendan out of his misery. So he wants this in the dark. He wants to remind himself of why he's here today. Why he didn't leave and why he never will. He wants to fill that void with Steven again. He's never letting go.

Steven does as he asks. He turns off the light, then goes to the window and closes the curtains, shutting out the fading light of day. When he returns to the bed, a little unsteady, Brendan feels for his body. He finds it and pulls Steven in, wraps their bodies together, entangled in heat as they find each other's lips and kiss away the pain, as if kissing each other can heal the cuts and fade the bruises – and it can. It can and it does. They kiss until they're drunk with it, until all they know it each other – the way it' supposed to be; just them. They keep it slow and soft, a way of saying 'I love you' and so much more without the need of verbal communication. Brendan moves his lips to Steven's neck and presses tender, loving kisses onto its fluttering pulse, before kissing down, down, down, on his skin as he slowly exposes it with shaking hands working on shirt buttons. Soon enough, all their clothes are strewn across the bedroom floor, and Brendan is pressing kisses to every inch of Steven's golden skin, worshipping it, loving it, craving it. It's all affectionate and placid; both of them can feel something swelling within their chests so much that it almost hurts and the emotion of it makes Brendan pause for a moment, just to get himself in check before he continues. Steven's soft moans play soundtrack to their evening and Brendan's occasional grunt blends with it. He slides back up Steven's body and their lips latch, tongues sweeping, lips a hot mesh, both of them trying to press everything they feel into the kiss and it's impossible but they're having a damn good try. Brendan returns to Steven's legs and separates them, nibbling and kissing on his inner thighs before he licks his entrance in preparation for the main event. He licks once, twice, three times, with Steven gasping and writhing above him, four times, five times, and then he's licking his way inside, lost in the overwhelmingly addictive, musky yet, surprisingly, sweet tastes of Steven. As Steven loosens, Brendan pushes further, before slipping his hand into the bedside drawer and finding the bottle of lube. He slicks his fingers and breaches Steven's entry, curling two fingers inside him and hitting the soft lump inside of him, the part that makes his toes curl and breathing stop momentarily. Carefully, he slips a third finger inside, trying to work the boy open. He keeps them in as he pours a thin sheen of lube over his length, before pushing home. Steven cries out, breathless with it; there could be no other feeling that could match this, or ever compare to it, and he's lost in it. Brendan's arms snake under his body, crossing over each other, hands latching onto his shoulders for closeness if nothing else. They're connected in the most pure, most intimate way, not even a layer of latex to barrier them. Brendan's head is buried into Steven's neck, kissing along the vein and across his shoulder and collarbone, while he thrusts; slow, deep, measured thrusts that hit exactly the right place and both of them are slowly shattering, fractured minds a blur of ecstasy and emotion. As they draw closer to that unbeatable high, Brendan picks up his pace, driving harder into Steven, still as deep as he can go, and his fingertips are digging into Steven's shoulders, while Steven's nails rake down his back so harshly it's painful but he loves it and he craves it and he wants the markings, wants Steven's claim on him, wants it like a tattoo – there to stay forever. He sucks a bruise into the flesh of Steven's neck, right on his sweet spot, causing the boy to scream as it tears his orgasm out of him, his muscles clenching and milking Brendan's erection in a tighter, more consuming heat and it causes his own orgasm to follow; it rips out of him and he's momentarily blinded by it. It's all white noise and hot fuzz and his body is on fire – he can barely remember to breathe. But when he does, he breathes in the scent of Steven's skin. It's a light, musky scent. His shower gel mixed with the heady smell of sex and perspiration, but Brendan can also smell himself on Steven and it makes him smile; a small smile but a smile nonetheless and it's the lightest he's felt in days. He slowly, regretfully, pulls out of Steven and rolls to the side, but only to scoop Steven into his arms and the two wrap around each other, mould together; they fit perfectly like the right pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. The discarded duvet is found and pulled up over them and they sleep away from the wet stains on the bed sheets. Steven snuggles his face into Brendan's chest, murmuring 'I love you'. Brendan returns it with a kiss to his forehead and decides that anything he had to say before, well, it could wait for another day. There was no chance in hell he was going to ruin this bliss tonight. Slowly, he began to slip into sleep, his head lolling to the side, just above Steven's, and finally he was surrounded by a warm darkness – this time without nightmares to plague his peace.


End file.
